


Devil's in the Details

by troublesomedragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is panicking internally but Sam gets him through it, Crack Treated Seriously, Cute Lucifer, Dark Crack, Dean loses the will to live if Cas isn't there and it's concerning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lucifer Feels, Lucifer needs Sam, M/M, Meta Humor, One-Sided Relationship, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Finale, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam needs answers, brief mentions of Sam/Eileen end game, mentions of Destiel, sam wishes the devil would leave him alone, shameless use of macguffins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troublesomedragon/pseuds/troublesomedragon
Summary: In which Chuck has a magic typewriter and Lucifer wrote the finaleSam decides to get to the bottom of it.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Devil's in the Details

###  _Devil’s in the Details_

Sam hates the devil, even in the rare times he manages to be sympathetic. He simply never knows for sure if he is being played or not and refuses to take the risk. In fact, if the damn fallen angel had left well enough alone, they probably wouldn’t be in this mess, and he wouldn’t have had to drag him out of The Empty. There is little Lucifer can do to fix what he’d done, but Sam still needs closure. 

He tosses Chuck’s final manuscript in front of Lucifer who has the nerve to look bored as he absently tugs at the Enochian cuffs keeping him in check. Sam leans forward and tries to channel as much of his anger and resentment into his glare as he can. Cas and Dean are dead, and as with most things in Sam’s life, it is the devil’s fault. 

“Why did you rewrite the script? Were you hoping Chuck would finally give you the time of day if you messed with his toys?”

Lucifer chuckles and calls Sam’s bluff, closing the distance between them. He instinctively steps back, cursing his weakness. Old habits are hard to break. 

“I did it for you, Sam. Well, having my kid replace God was a nice bonus but mostly you.”

Sam openly gapes at Lucifer, completely speechless, unsure how to process that. 

“No, you’re just trying to give me survivor’s guilt. You don’t care about me.”

He has to believe that. The devil is over him. Lucifer has said as much. 

“I gave you everything you needed, Sam. A nice Apple Pie life with a wife and kid. Hell, I even let you name him Dean. Okay, I also wanted you to wear a stupid wig, but mostly the first thing,” he promises.

“I knew that wasn’t my real hair,” he mutters to himself, absently rubbing it between his fingers, a little relieved that he isn’t going to relive that nightmare. 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. It was Dean’s turn to do the noble death thing. Dying for you was his greatest triumph. He was always going to die young.”

Sam slams his hands on the table, and Lucifer actually flinches like he actually thought killing off his brother wouldn’t piss him off. 

“No, that’s bullshit. Dean shouldn’t have died. I should have called an ambulance. I should have-”

“He would have found another way to die, Sammy. Every time his angel boy scout dies, he loses the will to live. Surely, you saw it coming.”

The smug bastard grins, sensing his weakness. Dean’s self worth issues aren’t exactly a secret, and Sam is radiating guilt. Did Dean really just give up?

Sam swallows nervously. Heart thudding painfully in his chest as an ugly truth settles there.

Did he let him? 

“He seemed happy. We’d just gone to a pie festival. He was coping.”

Lucifer blows a raspberry and gives him a thumbs down. For once, the devil’s look of disappointment actually stings because it's justified. He’s right, has been all along if he’s honest with himself. 

He doesn’t want to be.

“Let me guess. He was drinking heavily and constantly distracting himself with whatever inane crap he saw in the local newspaper.”

“Shut up, h-he wouldn’t die on purpose. No, that’s not what happened. That’s not-”

“Devil’s in the details, Sammy. Boy’s always been suicidal. He just needed a little push.”

He makes a popping sound with his mouth and shoves the glass of water Sam was kind enough to offer him to the ground. It shatters on impact. The glass’s untimely demise is no different from his brother’s fate: quick, unexpected, destroyed on a whim by an eldritch being to prove a point. 

Once again, Sam curses the fact that his destiny has always been tied to the devil. Lucifer may be the monster at the end of this book, but he brought him here by simply existing. 

“You’re evil incarnate.”

The devil lights up, relishing every second of Sam’s misery, because even if he was once beautiful, his soul has been twisted into something ugly. 

“Guilty as charged. Well, Sam, if that’s all you wanted, I think I’ll get going.”

He snaps his fingers and scowls when nothing happens.

“How the Hell was Michael able to use his powers with these on?”

It’s Sam’s turn to feel giddy. The devil’s come back from the dead one too many times, and as much as his current vessel suits him, it’s far from perfect. He’s not about to explain that Lucifer. No, Sam wants to take a cheap shot.

“Maybe, he’s just stronger than you.”

Lucifer scowls, but surprisingly, he doesn’t make a move to throttle him. Instead, he holds out his arms expectedly like their friends. As if he knows instinctively, he is all Sam has now. 

“I’m going to ignore that for old times sake. Get these off.”

Unfortunately for the devil, he’s learned to go off script. He wasn’t a founding member of Team Freewill for nothing. He returns to his chair, arms crossed as he gives Lucifer an incredulous look. He’s not some scared fresh faced kid anymore. 

“No, if my brother and Cas don’t get a happy ending, why should you?”

Lucifer grits his teeth, silently fuming. He follows Sam’s lead and dramatically drags his chair back, making as much noise as possible as he sits back down. He slams his fists on the table, and he’s reminded that this petulant creature is meant to be his dark mirror even if that is no longer readily apparent.

Sam’s outgrown him. Lucifer is still a child who returned to his deadbeat dad the minute Chuck gave him a scrap of acknowledgement. 

“Don’t try my patience, Sam. I will get out of these eventually, and I can either owe you a favor or I can come back later and take vengeance against you when you least expect it.”

Sam smirks, mildly amused by the empty threat. He’s not afraid of the devil anymore. 

“What are you going to do? Give me another blurry wife?”

Lucifer has the decency to look embarrassed. He stops looking at Sam, concentrating on the cold cement floor instead, fists still clenched tightly in front of him. 

“How was I supposed to know that she’d end up blurry if I didn’t give her a physical description or any kind of character or motivation?”

He can’t help but laugh. Somehow, Lucifer has managed to top God’s previous questionable writing choices through sheer indifference. 

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re a worse writer than Chuck.”

Just like that, Sam manages to get under the devil’s skin, and it’s as satisfying as he imagined. He slams his fist on the table again, an angry flush spreading through his face. Lucifer still cares what Sam thinks of him. 

If this broken angel hadn’t traumatized him so badly, he would have called it kind of adorable instead of pitiful. Lucifer’s destroyed every other meaningful relationship he’s ever had. 

“You take that back,” he huffs.

Sam shrugs beyond caring what happens to him. This is the most at peace he’s felt since his brother died. If nothing else, he can make the devil suffer. 

“Why should I? I have nothing left to lose. I can’t even go back to Eileen because I let my brother die on a nail. How can I face her after that?” 

Lucifer takes issue with his word choice. He crosses his arms, getting stupidly defensive over what he would argue was Dean’s most anticlimactic death. 

Then again, he supposes that any death would look anticlimactic after defeating God. 

“It was a rebar. I figured that was good enough. Nice and stabby.”

Great, the reason his brother was taken out by a useless hunk of metal was sheer convenience. 

“You’re the worst.”

Lucifer practically beams at him. 

“Thank you, Sammy.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sensing an oncoming headache. There really is no winning with the devil. There is barely anything good left in him, at least not nearly enough to inflict even a fraction of the pain Sam had endured over the years.

“Wasn’t a compliment,” he says tiredly. 

Sam wonders if Lucifer can still read minds because his face twists in silent agony. He can’t find it in himself to care. Feeling sympathy for the devil is a fool’s errand. 

“Hey, I really was trying to be nice. I didn’t really take into account how much you’d changed since you were . . .” Lucifer trails off, sensing he might be revealing too much. 

“Tell you what, I’ll show you where the old man’s magic typewriter is so you can write your own ending, and in exchange, you let me go.”

“Sure, where is it?”

Lucifer narrows his eyes and keeps his mouth shut. He has good reason not to trust Sam anymore. Sam knows now what he did was a mistake, but he can’t say he regrets it. How could he have possibly predicted the butterfly effect leaving Lucifer for dead in that hellish world would cause? When Sam doesn’t make a move to help him, Lucifer prompts him.

“You first.”

He tugs at his chains again for emphasis. They don’t budge. 

Sam laughs. The devil really is at his mercy. If he didn’t still need him to fix this mess, he wouldn’t mind keeping him like this. 

“Like I’m falling for that,” he says, shaking his head.

Lucifer scowls, metaphorically throwing daggers at Sam.

“No cuffs or no service.”

He leans back in his chair and waits for Sam to start begging for his help. Sam for his part simply rolls his eyes. The devil is acting like Sam hasn’t spent his whole life constantly researching every random supernatural object on the planet in order to defeat some monster of the week or villain of the year. It may take longer than he would like, but he’s confident he can safely reject the devil’s help and still get what he wants in the end. 

“You seem to be under the impression that you have the upper hand here. The way I see it so long as you don’t have daddy’s magic typewriter I can do what I want with or without you,” he argues.

Lucifer seems to sense the truth of that statement because he changes tactics. 

“Come on Sam, without the angel, even if you revive your brother, he won’t stick around.”

Sam smirks, right math but wrong answer. It hasn’t crossed the devil’s mind that Sam would cut out the middleman and keep looking for Chuck’s magical typewriter without him. 

“Risk I’m willing to take. At least now, I know what I’m dealing with,” he says with a shrug.

The devil has the gall to look concerned for him. He frowns and almost sounds sincere as he traces the names carved on the bunker’s table, lingering on Jack’s.

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment, Sam.”

“Don’t care.”

He finds he means it. Even if he’s wrong about this, he refuses to give the devil the benefit of the doubt. He’s had multiple chances to turn his life around and burned every hand that has ever reached out to him. Him acting like a kicked puppy now isn’t going to change Sam’s mind about him. Some things can never be forgiven. 

Sam walks away from the devil, mentally cataloguing every ingredient he’ll need. Some of it is in the bunker already, the rest of it he’ll have to get topside. Lucifer’s rough hand grabs his wrist before he can make good on his plans. He hates the way he flinches in anticipation. The devil’s touch is rarely kind. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you, but only so I don’t have to watch this codependence mess continue for the umpteenth time this decade,” Lucifer huffs, giving in. 

He searches his face, quietly scanning for any sign of deception. He finds none. With a resigned sigh, Sam decides to take the risk.

“I’m listening.”

The devil’s eyes widen as if he wasn’t expecting that to work. Before Sam can reconsider trusting the devil, he spills his guts. 

“The typewriter is in Fairmont, West Virginia hidden in plain sight. You’ll never find it without me so you might as well make it easier on yourself and uncuff me, ” he says, again raising his arms expectantly. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. He’s not sure why the devil is suddenly playing nice. Okay, maybe, he does know but refuses to see it. He’s not Dean. He can read between the lines. 

“No thanks but since you willingly volunteered the info, I will let you go once I have it. I promise, and unlike you, my promises actually mean something,” he says, somewhat bitterly.

The devil finally snaps and easily throws him against a pillar. His eyes glow red, promising him Hellfire. Sam can’t hide the crippling fear and panic that overtake him. He might as well be back at the cage. Lucifer remembers himself and gently sets him down. 

“I never broke my promise to you, Sam. You’re the one that betrayed me over and over again.” 

The words are soft and broken. Sam finds his anger again. How dare the devil pretend that he’s the victim here?

“What do you expect? You’re evil.”

He shoves the devil away from him, ready to bail. Sure, Sam intellectually knows it’s unwise to leave Lucifer without a babysitter in a warded bunker full of ancient powerful artifacts, but he’s rattled and wants to be anywhere but here. 

“Only because my father never let me be anything else,” Lucifer argues, chasing after Sam which is definitely not in the devil’s best interest. 

Isn’t it just perfect that the devil still holds a torch for him? He’ll never be free, will he? He stops and turns around, shoving the devil into the exact same pillar he’d pinned him against only a few minutes ago. He’s absolutely done with the devil’s bullshit. 

“At the end of the day, you choose Chuck over us, Lucifer. Stop trying to play the victim, and actually deal with the consequences of your actions.”

Sam lets him go after that. He can barely stand to look him in the eye. Why can’t the devil ever stay dead? Worse, why can’t the devil ever seem to let him go? 

Lucifer looks dumbstruck for a moment as if he’s a little kid, and this is the first time he’s ever been yelled at which is definitely not the case. He shakes it off and pretends nothing significant happened. Sam notes with some satisfaction that the devil is having trouble looking at him too, albeit for an entirely different reason. 

“Whatever, let’s focus on the real issue. How exactly do you plan to get there without my angel mojo?”

Sam shakes the Impala’s keys, a malevolent glint in his eyes. He had noticed Casifer (Dean’s idea) getting extra crabby every time Dean insisted he ride with them, and because Lucifer had wanted to get on Dean’s good side, he hadn’t been able to refuse. For a being who was used to instant gratification, long car trips were torture. 

“Oh Hell No. My days of willingly going on a road trip in that thing are over. Stop being stubborn and release me. I can literally have us there in a snap.”

He snaps his fingers for emphasis. Nothing happens, and Sam’s smile grows bigger. He confidently heads toward the garage, knowing Lucifer will follow. 

“Nah, I’m taking the car. If you want, I can get a second set of cuffs and leave you chained to the radiator until I get back,” he offers, only half joking. 

Lucifer scowls about to snipe at him when he unexpectedly doubles over in pain, clutching his head. Sam runs over to him, immediately recognizing what is going on.

Heaven must be gossiping which means someone, somewhere made a big splash. 

“Good news, my son rescued your pathetic angel from The Empty. Who wrote a bad finale now?” he mocks.

Sam rolls his eyes again and doesn’t let himself get excited. He needs proof. Lucifer dropping info like this just before they’re about to head out is suspicious as Hell. It’s too well timed. 

“You. Also, not to be petty but pics or it didn’t happen.”

He’s sure if Lucifer was still able to disintegrate him on sight, he would.

“Kind of stuck here, in case you forgot.”

He holds up his cuffed hands to make a point. 

Sam nods, thinking to himself. Cas has gotten out of the empty before, and the man is still an angel. It’s possible he’s back. There’s an easy way to find out, and while Sam’s painfully aware he’s not Cas’s favorite Winchester by a long shot, he hopes he’ll answer his prayer just this once, if only to let him know that he’s okay. 

“Cas, I know you’re probably busy making out with my brother or something, but could you come down here for a sec? I got Lucifer,” he adds helpfully.

Cas appears in front of him in record time. Sam almost jumps, no longer used to angel jump scares after a few weeks without the guy. He glares at Lucifer who gives him a cheeky grin and waves. 

“Why is he out of The Empty?”

“Figured out he was the reason things turned out the way they did, and I wanted answers. He has Chuck’s magic typewriter hidden somewhere,” he explains. 

Cas doesn’t ask any follow up questions, more than ready to act as Sam’s personal angel express. Sam’s relieved. He isn’t entirely sure if he could survive a thirteen hour trip with Lucifer. 

“I’ll find it. Dean is out for a drive. I should be able to retrieve the typewriter before he’s finished and welcome him to Heaven 2.0.”

Sam can’t believe it. He doesn’t know all the details, but he’s a pretty observant guy. He knows something went down between Dean and Cas before he was whisked away to The Empty. His brother literally showed up wearing a bloody coat with Cas’s handprint on it looking utterly dead inside after the incident. It didn’t occur to him till later that he’d driven hours in that thing without once entertaining the idea of taking it off. Dean had even run up the stairs and let the devil in without thinking because he desperately wanted Cas to be on the other side, no matter the odds. So, Why is Cas hesitating? 

“Wait, you haven’t seen him?”

Cas gets flustered and stops looking him in the eye which in any other circumstance would be worrying. Here, it’s endearing. 

“N-no, I thought I’d have more time before-”

“You’re afraid he’ll reject you,” Sam realizes.

Idiots, both of them. 

Angels don’t feel things the way we do, Sammy. Yeah right. 

“I never needed him to say it back, but I can’t say I’m in a hurry to hear his answer. I know what it will be,” Cas says solemnly.

Before he can say his peace, the devil interrupts him, because it’s Lucifer’s mission to make his life as difficult as possible apparently. 

No rest for the wicked. 

“Wow, what a coward, it’s a wonder you managed to spit it out at all,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. It seems he kind of pities Cas, but Sam’s been third wheeling too long to let him say more than that. 

Sam ribs him in the stomach and glares at him. 

“Shut up Lucifer, my brother’s not exactly the easiest person to talk to.”

Lucifer wisely shuts up, rubbing his side as he sulks. He really is on his best behavior then. Sam was honestly expecting to be punched in the face or something for that stunt. 

“Trust me, Cas. His answer won’t be what you think it is. Give him a chance.”

Cas watches him closely and silently decides something. He relaxes, a small smile on his lips. 

“I’ll take your words into consideration.”

He’s about to take off when Lucifer mouths off. 

“Not that it matters, you’ll never guess where I stuck Dad’s magical mcguffin. So, you’ll have plenty of time to torture yourself with what ifs.”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. 

“The Chestnut Ridge Typewriter Museum, third shelf, in between two other typewriters, and there is a world map on the wall.”

The devil is rendered speechless for a whole thirty seconds, and Sam loves every second of it.

“How?” he finally spits out.

“I can read minds now,” he answers smugly. 

Lucifer shakes his fist at the sky and yells.

“Thanks a lot hell spawn!”

“I’ll tell him you said hello,” Cas says wryly.

“Happy now, Sam? You’re getting exactly what you wanted. My son will probably deux ex machina Dean back from the grave, and you can live happily ever after with Jolene,” Lucifer grumbles.

“Eileen,” Sam corrects him.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d be sure that steam is coming out of the devil’s ears. 

“Whatever, a deal’s a deal. Free me, you promised,” he demands, shifting into petulant child mode now that he hasn’t gotten his way. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m stupid enough to let you go as you are. It’s going to cost you,” Sam says. He’d been hoping to put off this conversation until tomorrow, but plans have changed. 

Lucifer immediately stiffens, expecting the worst. 

“What? Are you going to stick me back in the cage?”

It would probably be the smarter thing to do, but he’s seen what it’s done to Amara, to Lucifer, to Michael, and himself. He wouldn’t wish that torture on his worst enemy, and he’s standing right in front of him. 

“Nah, you have two options. I nick most of your grace or you go back to The Empty. Your choice,” he says with a shrug.

Lucifer’s eye begins to twitch, seconds from exploding. By some miracle, he manages to collect himself before he can trigger Sam’s PTSD. 

“I hate both those options,” he growls, kicking the nearest pillar. 

Lucifer only succeeds in hurting himself. It takes all of Sam’s willpower not to laugh. 

“Not fun choosing between two shitty options is it?”

The devil seems to be spiraling into another depression and slumps into his chair, defeated. 

“What do you want from me, Sam?”

“Frankly, I never want to see you again, and I don’t trust you to change your ways. So, pick your poison, or I’ll have Cas pick it for you.”

“Take my grace, I’ll get it back eventually,” Lucifer says without a hint of hesitation.

It’s too easy, and it makes Sam weary. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

“How exactly do you plan to do that?”

Lucifer offers Sam a wicked grin as if he’s already five steps ahead of him. It chills Sam to the bone. He wishes the angel cuffs could contain the devil’s inherent cunning. 

“You’re going to give it back to me one day.”

The devil is so absurdly confident that Sam will do what he wants that he feels the need to lash out and kicks his chair from under him. Lucifer manages not to split his head open and simply stays sitting cross legged on the floor staring at Sam. 

“Hell will literally freeze over first,” he hisses.

The damn devil keeps smiling at him. His faith unshaken. 

“You’re a kind person, Sam. If I stay on my best behavior, eventually, I’ll earn back your trust, and you’ll give me what I want.”

Sam hates that he might be right. 

“I take back what I said. You don’t get a choice. You’re going to The Empty and facing sweet oblivion,” he decides.

No sense risking it. He’s failed to keep the world from falling apart one too many times to play fair. He shouldn’t have offered the twisted angel the option of trying again. He’s had more than one chance already. 

“Sammy, by robbing me of my choice, aren’t you going against everything you believe in? Team Freewill ringing a bell?” Lucifer argues.

Of course the devil makes a good point. Since when is Sam’s life ever easy?

“I hate it when you’re right. Fine, let’s get this over with and don’t try anything,” he relents. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucifer says with fake cheer.

It occurs to him that he has nothing that would be able to cut the grace out of Lucifer. To save face, he excuses himself and enters one of the bunkers storage rooms, desperately hoping there is some ancient forgotten angel blade somewhere. Instead, he finds a note from Cas, and an ancient puzzle box.

_Thought you might need this._

It takes him ten minutes to figure out the complex puzzle. Inside, he finds an unfamiliar angel blade. Sam chooses not to think about how Cas got a hold of it even though Godstiel (Dean’s idea again) comes to mind immediately. 

Lucifer is still taking the path of least resistance and hasn't wandered away in the interim. He’s melancholy, and his voice is soft as he asks Sam a damning question.

“Was there anything you liked about my ending?”

He doesn’t have the heart to say that it was complete and utter garbage, but he strains to think of something substantial. He settles for something easy. 

“The dog.”

Lucifer regains some of his fighting spirit, absolutely appalled by Sam’s opinion.

“That’s it? Seriously?”

He vaguely recalls Cas saying something about Dean taking a drive and takes a shot in the dark. 

“I liked that Baby made it to Heaven, but it was kind of insulting Cas didn’t,” he says.

Lucifer waves off Sam’s complaint like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

Nevermind, he’s been a part of their own fandom for five years now. Sam’s even indulged in some creative writing exercises and posted them online. He especially gets a kick when people comment that he really nailed Dean’s character. 

“He was fine somewhere off screen. Who cares about him?”

Sam full on laughs at the devil, tears in his eyes. 

“You don’t know your audience at all do you?”


End file.
